


From Jupiter's Head

by Squibstress



Series: Epithalamium (Albus and Minerva) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Gen, Not Pottermore Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27330082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squibstress/pseuds/Squibstress
Summary: Thorfinn McGonagall observes his daughter as she grows up, and realises he has a very unusual witch on his hands.Book #0.75 of the Epithalamium series. (Reading previous books not necessary to enjoy this story.)
Series: Epithalamium (Albus and Minerva) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/9046
Comments: 10
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

_Minerva, also known as Pallas, was a maiden of such celebrity that foolish people believed her to be of more than mortal origin. . . . As time went by, it was observed that this woman did many things never before seen. . . . The Greeks, who at that time surpassed everyone else in good sense, believed that she had been born, not from a mother, but from Jupiter's head and had fallen from heaven._

~ Giovanni Boccaccio, _Famous Women_ , translated by Virginia Brown

* * *

## 5 February 1930

Thorfinn McGonagall sat in his study answering some of the many letters of condolence that continued to pour in two months after his wife’s death, when a shriek from somewhere on a floor above pulled him out of his chair. He shot out the door, up the stairs, and down the hall, moving faster than anyone would have believed the large man could.

He arrived in the doorway to the nursery to find his mother-in-law, Morna, frantically casting _Aguamenti_ spells at the curtains and tapestries that had once depicted scenes from _Tales of Beadle the Bard_ but were now blackening and curling as flames consumed them.

“They keep lighting up,” Morna told Thorfinn when he joined her to shoot water at the conflagration. Together, they doused the flames within a few minutes.

Wiping his sweaty brow with his sleeve, Thorfinn looked over at his wee daughter.

Minerva was scowling at the baby, who gurgled happily in his cot, evidently enormously entertained by the antics of the grownups.

“She was having a strop,” Morna whispered to Thorfinn. “I don’t think she even knows what she did.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Thorfinn checked baby Einar, who appeared to be perfectly intact.

“Are you all right, lass?” he asked his daughter.

Minerva’s little arms were crossed tightly over her chest. She nodded, her brows drawn together like black caterpillars in a fierce and furious confrontation.

With a few efficient swipes of Morna’s wand, the soaked and blackened wall hangings were Vanished and the water siphoned neatly from the floor.

“I’ll go ask one of the house-elves to organise some new curtains for that window while you sort the children,” she said, giving Thorfinn a meaningful look.

Thorfinn sighed and turned to his older child.

“What happened, Minerva?”

“Einar _ruint_ it.” Tears clung to the corners of her eyes, and Thorfinn had the impression she was refusing to let them fall out of sheer will.

“What did he ruin?”

“That.”

She pointed a chubby finger at a crumpled bit of parchment on the floor next to the baby’s cot.

Thorfinn picked it up and flattened it out. It was a carefully sketched picture of a woman with big green eyes and long black hair. The drawing was childish, but Thorfinn recognised its subject and blinked back his own tears.

“Did you draw this?” he asked.

Minerva nodded, her eyes red but dry now.

“I was showing it to him, and he grabbed it, and it tore, and now it’s _ruint,_ all because of _him_!”

She stamped her foot, and an electric zing of magic buzzed past Thorfinn’s shoulder. The edge of the parchment caught fire in his hand, and he quickly blew out the small flame.

“I’m sorry, Da! I didn’t mean to!”

Minerva’s lip trembled, and she pulled up her pinafore to hide her tears.

Thorfinn knelt down to his daughter and gently took her pinny from her hands, smoothing it down over her blue woollen dress.

“I know that. But I need you to calm yourself. Try breathing deeply.”

He waited, stroking her plaited head while she drew a few shuddering breaths.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s my braw lassie.”

Glancing at Einar, who had fallen asleep after all the excitement of the morning, Thorfinn drew Minerva over to a rocking chair and hoisted her onto his lap.

“This is a lovely picture,” he said. “And it’s nae ruined at all. I can mend it, with your permission.”

Minerva nodded, looking up at him earnestly.

With a reassuring smile at his child, he drew his wand and pointed it at the parchment.

“ _Papyrum emendo_!”

The jagged tear that bisected Morrigan’s sketched face disappeared.

 _If only I could have healed her so easily_ , Thorfinn thought, but pushed it away. His daughter needed him now, and he couldn’t fall apart.

“It’s Mother,” Minerva said. “I made it for you. To make you smile again.”

A lump clogged the words in Thorfinn’s throat.

Somehow, he croaked out, “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“I miss her,” Minerva said.

“So do I.” Thorfinn took a handkerchief from his robe pocket and dabbed at his leaking eyes. “But she’s still here with us, even if we can’t see her,” he said. “She’s in our hearts and in our memories, and nothing will ever change that. I see her in you, my darling girl. You have her hair and her eyes, you know.”

“I do?”

“Aye _._ And I’m beginning to think you have her strong magic.”

“Did she make things go on fire?”

Thorfinn chuckled. “No, but she was fiery enough when she was angry, just like you. She learned to control her magic as she grew up. That’s something you’ll need to learn to do too. Gran and I will help you.”

“Will it be hard?”

“Sometimes. But I know you can do it. You’ve already started. Your magic escaped when you got angry, but you didn’t light your brother on fire, no matter how _fiadhaich_ he made you. And just now, you didn’t burn my hand when you sparked the picture. As upset as you were, you didn’t let your magic hurt anyone. I’m proud of you.”

She wriggled around in his arms and buried her face against his chest.

“I love you, Da. I would never hurt you.”

Fierce love for his small, serious girl welled up in him, and he kissed the top of her head.

“I love you, Minerva. Now, do you think you could forgive your baby brother for tearing your beautiful picture?”

“I s’pose.”

“Good. Because I’ll need your help with him. Babies don’t know anything. You know so many things. How to ride a toy broom. How to read stories. And you’re beginning to know how to use magic, and, more importantly, how not to use it. Will you help me teach Einar?”

“Yes, Da.” The brown-flecked green eyes sparkled up at him, just as her mother’s used to, and he swallowed past the pain it gave him.

“Thank you.”

She hopped off his lap and went over to the cot where Einar slept.

Thorfinn came up beside her and looked at his tiny son, so nearly taken from him during the birth that ultimately took his wife. How strange that such beauty could come from such violence, he thought. He offered a silent thanks to Morrigan for bringing these children into his world.

“He’s bonny,” Minerva said. “When he’s asleep.”

“That he is.”

He took her small hand in his.

“Let’s take advantage of his nap. How would you like to come read some stories to me?”

“Yes. But not _Beedle the Bard._ I want ‘The Little Mermaid’.”

“‘The Little Mermaid’ it is.”


	2. Chapter 2

### 20 October 1935

Thorfinn McGonagall encouraged his daughter to read anything that interested her, whether or not it was intended for children, and she took good advantage of it. More often than not, Minerva could be found curled up in any spot of warmth the Highlands weather afforded, nose buried in a thick book.

He liked to talk to his children about the things they read, and he found that Minerva understood far more than the average child her age. As she grew older, they would sit in the library discussing the fine points of this or that novel, or the faults of the latest history of the Goblin wars. A man of scholarly bent, Thorfinn took great pleasure in their talks. Minerva, he was proud to say, was a prodigious thinker, with an ability to dissect ideas with the critical eye of a scholar twice her age.

That’s why he was shocked when, one day in the library, he heard her use the term “mudblood” while talking to her brother about one of the Muggle boys from the nearby village of John o’ Groats he liked to play with.

“Minerva!”

She turned to look at Thorfinn questioningly. He rarely raised his voice to either of his children, so it was an event when it happened.

“Come here, please.”

She dutifully came over to stand by his chair, biting her lip in anxiety.

Thorfinn took care to keep his voice at its usual steady volume. “Einar, please go find Llyndie and ask her to give you your bath.”

“But we haven’t had dinner yet,” Einar said.

“It’s only a little early, and if you take it now, we’ll have time for a story or a game before bed.”

“All right.” Einar skipped out happily in search of the nursery elf.

When he was out of earshot, Thorfinn asked Minerva, “Where did you hear that word?”

Her forehead crinkled. “Which word?”

“‘Mudblood.’”

“From Great Uncle Thomas.”

Thorfinn bit back a groan. Thomas MacLaughlin was far from his favourite among his late wife’s family, but Thorfinn felt that Minerva and Einar should see their mother’s kin—even the objectionable ones—at least once in a while, and Thomas and his son, Maxwell, had been over from Mull to visit for a weekend during the summer. Thorfinn had gritted his teeth every moment in Thomas’s annoying company.

“And in what context did he use it?” Thorfinn asked.

“We were talking about duelling, and he said the mudbloods could never compete with purebloods in the world championship.”

“Do you know what the word means?”

“Of course,” she answered huffily, as if the idea that she would use a word without knowing its meaning was a terrible insult. “It means a witch or wizard with one or two Muggle parents.”

“Correct, although it is a very rude term. The proper term, Minerva, is ‘Muggle-born’, which is what I want you always to use.”

The sternness of his voice made the intended impression. Her eyes were wide as she said, “Yes, Da. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not angry, as long as you promise never to use that other word again.”

“No, Da, I won’t.”

“Good. Now, do you think Uncle Thomas was right about what he said? About Muggle-borns not being able to compete with purebloods?”

Minerva considered for a moment, the frown easing from her face at the challenge of her father’s question.

“Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? The genes for magic would have been passed down from parent to offspring. Muggle traits would have been subject to _. . ._ what is it called? Where bad things get bred out?”

She twisted the end of her plait as she struggled to find the right words.

“Negative selection?” Thorfinn offered.

“Negative selection. Anyone from a family with lots of wizards and witches would be more likely to have their magical genes _. . ._ crowd out the Muggle genes. The stronger the magical bloodline, the stronger the magic.”

She smiled, looking pleased with herself for getting through the explanation.

Thorfinn sighed. Clearly, he would need to go over genetics and the theory of natural selection with her more thoroughly. She was only ten, he reminded himself.

“It’s more complex than that,” he said.

“Yes, Da,” she said dutifully. “But Uncle Thomas says Muggles—”

“Great Medea’s ghost, lass, have I not taught ye to think for yourself?” he shouted, shocking the pink into her cheeks.

He wondered for a moment if she would cry—something she never did. Although yelling at his children was something Thorfinn never did either.

He put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have shouted. It’s just that your Great Uncle Thomas has some terrible ideas about a lot of things.”

“Like Muggles?” she asked timidly.

“Like Muggles,” he confirmed. “He thinks wizards are better than Muggles. That’s a dangerous and wicked idea that leads to no good.”

“But _. . ._ ” Minerva blinked several times. “Never mind.”

“No, what were you going to say?”

“Just _. . ._ isn’t it better? To be a witch or wizard?”

“No, Minerva. One person isn’t inherently better than another because he or she was born with a certain collection of genes.”

“But witches and wizards can do things that Muggles can’t.”

“That’s true. But it only means that some things are easier for us to do and harder for Muggles. Just as cats can do things we humans can’t, like see in the dark. At least not without help. Does that make being a cat better than being a human?”

Minerva giggled. “No.” She grew serious again. “Would you want to be a Muggle, Da?”

“I have never wanted to be anything but what I am. But I have never been a Muggle, so I can’t say whether I’d want to be one.”

“I like being a witch.”

“And I’m glad, because that’s what you are. And a good one. It’s fine to be happy with what you are. But you shouldn’t look down on or feel sorry for someone else just because he’s not the same as you.”

“Then why does Uncle Thomas think witches and wizards are better?”

“Because people like Uncle Thomas are always looking for ways to make themselves feel better about who they are.”

“Does Uncle Thomas feel bad?”

“I think he does. He didn’t get as far in life as he wanted. Sometimes that happens because the person doesn’t do what he needs to, but sometimes it happens because of bad luck. Or a combination of both. I don’t know which it is for Uncle Thomas, but it’s had the unfortunate effect of making him bitter and unhappy, and he spreads his feelings of misery and powerlessness through pureblood prejudice. Words like the one you said make him feel powerful, but in truth, it diminishes whatever power he does have because it makes the intelligent people around him see him as a fool.”

Minerva looked at her shoes, then up under her lashes at Thorfinn, as if embarrassed to speak.

“Do you think I’m a fool, Da?” she asked quietly.

“Minerva, you are the furthest thing from a fool that there is. But you’re only ten, and you haven’t yet seen enough of life—of people—to always know who _is_ a fool and not worth your listening to.”

“How do I learn that?”

“Listen. Think. Take nothing anyone says—even your old Da—as gospel truth. Look at the evidence before you believe something.”

“I will, Da. I promise.”

“Good lass. You’ve an excellent brain, and it’s usually connected to your tongue. So I know you’ll figure things out, and I know I’ll not hear you repeat foolishness from the likes of Thomas MacLaughlin, or anyone else, again. Especially around your brother.”

“No, Da.”

He gave her a reassuring smile.

“I think there’s time for a quick game of chess before dinner, if you like.”

“Yes, please.”

“Wonderful. You can set up the board this time. But mind the white knight. He bites.”


	3. Chapter 3

### 1 July 1937

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Armando Dippet, Headmaster

1 July 1937

Dear Miss McGonagall,

On behalf of the faculty and staff, I am pleased to offer you a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the class of 1944.

Term will begin on 1 September. Kindly send an owl stating your intention to attend no later than 31 July.

Enclosed, please find a list of all the supplies necessary for your first year.

We look forward to welcoming you to Hogwarts.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore  
Deputy Headmaster

~oOo~

Castle Isleif  
Caithness, Scotland

1 July 1937

Dear Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore,

I accept with pleasure your kind invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I look forward to the beginning of term and to meeting you and the other staff and faculty of the school.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

~oOo~

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  


1 September 1937

Dear Da,

I was Sorted into Gryffindor. I hope you are not too disappointed. You never said so, but I know you hoped I might be in your old House. The Sorting Hat did consider Ravenclaw, and for a minute it seemed like that’s where it would put me, but in the end, it was Gryffindor. I'm happy, and I hope you will be, too.

I’ve met some interesting people already. Professor Dumbledore, the Deputy Headmaster who sent my letter, is also the Head of Gryffindor House, and he seems very nice. Did you know that he discovered the 12 uses of dragon’s blood? And invented the Disillusionment spell? I read about it in _A History of Magic_.

I thought he would be intimidating because of his important reputation, but he isn’t. He smiles a lot and talks softly. When he came to speak to the first-years, he offered us all a sweetie, and it was amazing! He asked each of us what our favourite was, and he Transfigured each one right there from a tin of lemon drops (I think they were). I’ll bet you can guess what I chose!

I can’t wait until classes begin tomorrow. I hope I will make you proud of me.

I will write more later this week.

I miss you. Please give my love to Einar and Gran, and tell them I miss them, too.

All my love,

Minerva

~oOo~

Castle Isleif  
Caithness, Scotland

2 September 1937

My dearest Minerva,

Congratulations on being Sorted into Gryffindor! I am not in the least disappointed; on the contrary, I am exceedingly happy for you. Gryffindor House has a long and distinguished history of producing fine scholars, including your mother and grandmother, and I have no doubt you will thrive there. You are my clever, brave girl, and (dare I say?) stubborn as a Hippogriff to boot. I think the Sorting Hat has made a fine choice, but remember that one’s House does not define one. Only your actions can do that, and knowing you as I do, I have no worries on that score. I know you will do me proud.

I’m glad you find your Head of House congenial. He is responsible for looking after you while you are at Hogwarts, and I’ll sleep better knowing that you feel you can rely on Professor Dumbledore to help you with any problems you might encounter during term. Of course, I am only an owl away, don’t forget!

I look forward to hearing your impressions of your classes and professors.

Study hard, keep well, and always remember that I love you.

Your loving,

Da

~oOo~

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

2 October 1937

Dear Da,

I’m sorry I haven’t written in more than a week. It’s dreadfully remiss of me, but there’s so much to do here. I’m always busy until after curfew.

Classes are going well. Transfiguration is my favourite. Remember that I wrote to you about how I was the first one to change my matchstick into a needle? Professor Dumbledore said he thinks I have an abtitude (is that how it’s spelled?) for Transfiguration. This week, we began Elemental Transfiguration. It’s dreadfully difficult but lots of fun. William Prewett accidentally set fire to Professor Dumbledore’s beard when we were trying to change water into another liquid of our choice. I think he was trying to make his into Firewhisky! But Professor Dumbledore was ever so nice about it. He just calmly put out the fire and asked William to try again with “a less flammable substance”! I was able to turn mine into tea on the first go (I'm not boasting, it's just a fact.) Professor Dumbledore even took a sip and said it was a “quite passable Darjeeling”!

I like Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, too. Professor Merrythought is especially wonderful. She makes every lesson very interesting and exciting. So far, it’s just been reading and demonstration, but in another month, she’s going to let us start practicum. I can’t wait! She runs the duelling club, and I was so disappointed when she said that it’s restricted to third-years and up. I already joined the wizard’s chess club, which is fun, and everyone talks about Quidditch, although I’d much rather be playing! Next year, maybe. (If I get a decent broom—hint!)

You were so right about the library. It’s amazing! I could spend all day just looking through the stacks. Don’t worry, I’m not burying myself in books. Although you’re one to talk. I hope you’re getting out occasionally. You’re not the only one allowed to worry, you know!

It’s nearly curfew again, so I’ll close.

As always, love to Gran and Einar, and of course, to you.

Love,

Minerva

~oOo~

6 January 1938

Miss McGonagall,

Please report to my office at 8:00 for your detention.

Professor Burke

~oOo~

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

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_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

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_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

_I will not use a Vermiculus Jinx on a classmate, even if provoked._

~oOo~

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Armando Dippet, Headmaster

6 January 1938

Dear Mr McGonagall,

I’m writing to inform you that your daughter, Minerva, has been subject to a disciplinary action regarding her behaviour this afternoon during a disagreement with another student.

The disciplinary action—a detention with the other student’s Head of House—was the result of a jinx she cast on the other student’s wand. In short, she Transfigured it into a Flobberworm.

Rest assured that the student’s wand has been returned to its original state and that I have spoken to Minerva about the wrongness of her actions, so I do not believe the incident requires any intervention on your part.

This incident will not go on her permanent record, as there was no injury to the other party nor any permanent damage to property, and ordinarily I would not bother a parent with news of a minor infraction of school rules, but in this case, I thought it best to write to you.

I have never seen a first-year student perform a perfect non-biological-to-biological Transfiguration on what I am assured was the first try. Particularly upon a powerfully magical object such as a wand. This suggests that not only is Minerva is a very talented young witch, but she also possesses a significant store of magical power, a fact of which I imagine you are already aware. She also, as I’m sure you know, has quite a temper. This latter bears watching, which I’m certain you have done and which I shall continue to do while she is at school, but I would also like to assure you that we will address the former to the best of our collective ability at Hogwarts.

Talent and power are exceptional gifts that require careful nurturing if they are to blossom, and it would be my honour to help Minerva in whatever capacity she requires and which you will permit. If I am not mistaken, Minerva is only somewhat aware of her gifts; I suspect you have been wise enough to alert her to them without making too much of them. Again, with your permission, that is the tactic I would like to pursue in teaching her to use them, for her own benefit and for that of our society, which has much to gain from the talents of such an intelligent, powerful, and, may I say, charming magical practitioner.

Aside from this small hiccough in Minerva’s conduct—and I should probably not tell you that her “victim” richly deserved the surprise she gave him—she is an exemplary student and a pleasure to teach.

Respectfully yours,

Albus Dumbledore  
Deputy Headmaster

~oOo~

Castle Isleif  
Caithness, Scotland

7 January 1938

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Thank you for your letter. I’m sorry to hear that Minerva has been guilty of misbehaviour, and I am thankful there was no serious harm done. As you note, my daughter has a temper that sometimes gets away from her. It is a fault that her grandmother and I continue to encourage her to curb, with mixed success, I must allow, so I am glad you are aware of it and willing to help her overcome it.

I’m not surprised that a perceptive wizard such as yourself has so quickly noticed what my late wife and I knew from the day Minerva was born. Her magical power has been both blessing and challenge, and we have done our best to help her channel it into beneficial avenues. As you surmised, Minerva is largely, but not entirely, unaware of the magnitude of her gifts, and I agree wholeheartedly with the approach you suggest. If you are willing to take her under your guiding wing, I can only offer you my heartfelt thanks. My own magical gifts are not undeveloped, but my talents lie in a different direction than do Minerva’s. Fortunately, Minerva’s grandmother, who has helped raise her since her dear mother’s death, has magical abilities that align more closely with Minerva’s, and she has been a great support and role model for Minerva. I will confess, however, that I am relieved to have a teacher with greater experience of the kind of power Minerva enjoys guide her as she enters this most critical phase of her magical development. The Sorting Hat was wise indeed to entrust her to your care.

I am most grateful to you for your concern for and your interest in my daughter’s well-being and development. If there is any insight or aid I can offer, please don’t hesitate to contact me.

Thankfully yours,

Thorfinn McGonagall


	4. Chapter 4

## 19 June 1943

Thorfinn threaded his way through the crowd of eager parents on Platform 9¾, heading towards his son. Einar was waving both arms in the air shouting, “Over here, Da!” and by the time Thorfinn reached him, he was bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet in excitement.

The boy threw his arms around his father and hugged him tightly, and Thorfinn took a moment to be glad Einar was still young enough not to be embarrassed to hug his father in public.

‘Well, ’tis good to see you! You look to have grown a foot since Christmas.” He ruffled his son’s curly dark-blond hair.

“I’ve got so much to tell you!” Einar said. “I got the highest mark in my class on my Charms exam, and Professor Burbage says I can join her fourth-year Muggle Studies class next year, if you say it’s all right. Can I, Da? Please? I won’t slack off the rest of my studies, I promise.”

“Slow down there, lad, and let me catch up. There’ll be plenty of time to talk about next term when we get home.” He scanned the crowd of parents and children. “Where’s your sister?”

“She’ll be along. She said she’d be a few minutes, since she has prefect duties.”

“Oh, aye, I’d forgotten.”

The crowd on the platform began to thin as families reunited, chattering happily and exchanging news from Hogwarts and home. As Einar told Thorfinn about his second-year adventures at school, they were interrupted several times by boys calling their summer farewells. It pleased Thorfinn to see that his son appeared to be popular among his peers. He was studious but cheerful-natured, which Thorfinn supposed helped.

“Oi, McGonagall!” A stocky boy with short-cropped blond hair was coming towards them dragging a dented and scratched trunk behind him. “Thought I’d lost you in the crowd gettin’ off.” When he saw Thorfinn, he wiped his palm on his shirt and held out a hand. “Hello, sir. You must be Mr McGonagall. I’m Alastor Moody.”

Thorfinn shook the hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mr Moody. Einar’s written to me about you.”

“Nothin’ too bad, I hope,” Moody said, his mouth widening into a cheeky grin.

“On the contrary.”

“That’s a relief.” To Einar, Alastor said, “Only, I was wondering, will we meet up this summer sometime?”

“Sure. You can get your dad to bring you to Caithness. Maybe you could stop with us over a weekend or something?” He looked questioningly at his father.

“Of course. Mr Moody is welcome to visit anytime.”

“Thank you, sir,” Alastor said.

“I’ll owl you,” Einar said, holding up a cage containing Balfour, the handsome long-eared owl he’d received for his thirteenth birthday in November.

Minerva bustled over to them, breathless and Levitating her trunk behind her.

“Sorry to hold you up. I had to sort a few students who couldn’t find their parents. I don’t know why some people can’t be bothered to be on time for important things. Hullo, you.”

As she hugged Thorfinn, he lifted her and twirled her around.

“Da!” she protested.

He set her back on her feet. “I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too,” she said, her grin and the sparkle in her eyes indicating she had forgiven his grievous assault on her teenaged dignity. “I take it Einar found you all right.”

“Obviously,” Einar said, rolling his eyes. Thorfinn refrained from telling him he looked just like his sister when he did that.

“Hello, Moody,” Minerva said. “Are you having trouble finding your family?”

A bright pink flush swamped the freckles on Moody’s cheeks. “No. I’m _. . ._ It’s _. . ._ me da’s over there.” He pointed to a short man with grey-streaked brown hair. The man was smoking a cigarette and pacing.

I’d best be gettin’ on,” Alastor said. “Nice to meet you, Mr McGonagall. See you around, Einar. B _. . ._ bye, Mi _. . ._ Minerva.” He set off towards his father, dragging the trunk behind him.

“Is he all right?” Minerva asked Einar. “He was acting a bit peculiar.”

“He’s fine,” Einar said. “It’s just, you remember his mother died a few months ago? He’s been a little odd since then.”

She slapped her forehead. “Merlin, that’s right! I’d forgotten. And I had to go and ask about his family. Stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s all right,” Thorfinn said. “Einar’s invited him to visit us at Castle Isleif this summer.”

“That’s good.” A mischievous smile curled Minerva’s mouth. “Although, I don’t know, you might be a bad influence, Einar, after what the two of you did to George Avery.”

“Mi- _ner-_ va,” Einar groaned, shooting a worried glance at his father.

“It’s all right,” Thorfinn said, “your sister’s not telling any tales I’m not aware of. Professor Merrythought wrote to me.”

Einar gulped visibly. “She did?”

“She did. Said it took Madam Soranus and Professor Burke two days to sort this Avery lad.”

Einar tugged nervously at his Ravenclaw tie. “You never wrote anything to me about it.”

“No, I thought a week’s worth of detention was adequate punishment. But you’re lucky your gran didn’t hear of it, or you’d have had a Howler for sure.”

Einar grimaced, probably considering what his grandmother might have written for the entire school to hear.

Thorfinn chuckled. “But maybe Minerva is right. You and Mr Moody together might be too formidable a force for us to handle.”

“I never said they—” Minerva began, but Thorfinn put a hand on her shoulder to quiet her.

He said, “I didn’t ask Professor Merrythought, but can you tell me, what was the jinx you two used?”

“It wasn’t exactly _a_ jinx. It was more like two jinxes,” Einar said. “Alastor cast a _Furnunculus_ at the same time I did a _Melofors_. We didn’t plan it, we just did it. It didn’t turn out too well.”

Thorfinn tried and failed to stifle a laugh. “I imagine it didn’t.”

Einar started to laugh too. “His face puffed up and went a funny orange colour, and it had these awful oozing sores!”

Even Minerva couldn’t suppress a giggle, and the three of them shared a good laugh at the thought of George Avery walking around with a boil-covered pumpkin head for two days. Einar’s Head of House, Galatea Merrythought, had written that the Avery boy had been tormenting a first-year Muggle-born student when Einar and Alastor cast their ill-advised jinxes, and Thorfinn was privately proud of his son for sticking up for the Muggle-born.

“Come,” Thorfinn said, “grab your things and take my arms so I can Apparate us home.”

“I can Apparate myself, Da, remember?” Minerva said.

“ _Och_ , so you can. I forgot you took your exam in the spring.” Sometimes he had trouble believing that his little girl was seventeen already. It seemed to him that only yesterday she was all long plaits and scabby knees, but somewhere in the past year, she’d blossomed into, well _. . ._ a young woman.

“Einar, then. I’ll get your trunk, you grab Balfour, and we’ll go. Can you manage with your trunk, Minerva?”

She nodded.

“Don’t Splinch, now.”

And here came the eyeroll. “I won’t, Da.”

~oOo~

After dinner, Einar went up to his room to write to Alastor, and Thorfinn, Minerva, and Morna sat in the library, the two older mages enjoying a dram of Cardhu. When Thorfinn had poured the whisky, he’d caught Minerva’s hopeful glance, but he didn’t offer her any. He’d allowed her a glass of wine with dinner, and he thought that was quite enough for his daughter for one evening, of age or not. She could learn to hold her drink like a good Scotswoman later.

He was glad of the liquor in his own belly, however, when she said, “I’d like to talk to you both about something. Two things, actually.”

“Oh?” said Morna. “Should we be worried?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

Thorfinn put down his glass. “We’re listening.”

She shifted from one foot to another before speaking.

“A few weeks ago, there was an article in the _Prophet_ that said the Ministry might let witches into the Aurors. Because of the war.”

A shroud of dread settled itself over Thorfinn, but he said, “Yes, I remember that story.”

“If they do, I want to join.”

“Oh, Minerva, no,” said Morna.

Thorfinn gestured at his mother-in-law to stop her saying any more.

“Go on, lass. Why do you want to be an Auror?”

“Because we could lose the war. The indications are that things aren’t going well, and the Magical Allies need all the help they can get. If Grindelwald gets here _. . ._ the things he’s doing in Eastern Europe _. . ._ I couldn’t bear to stand by and do nothing.”

“There are other things to do besides fight on the front lines,” Thorfinn said.

“I know, but I _. . ._ well, I have a talent. Don’t I.” It wasn’t a question. Colour flooded her pale face; she wasn’t used to talking about her gifts. “I think the best way I can use it is to fight. And Professor Merrythought agrees.”

“You’ve spoken to her about this?”

“A little. She has friends in the Ministry, and she thinks they’re going to open the Auror training programme to witches. She said if they do, she’d give me a recommendation.”

“This Professor Merrythought is your Defence teacher?” Morna asked.

“Yes. And she runs the duelling club,” Minerva said. “I’ve won the school championship three years in a row.”

“A duel between schoolchildren is a different matter entirely from a duel with Dark wizards,” Morna said.

“I know. But I’d be trained. If I get into the programme.”

Thorfinn took up his whisky glass again and swirled it around before swallowing the dregs. Minerva twisted her fingers in her lap as she waited for him to say something.

“I’d be lying if I said I’m happy about the idea,” he said finally. “But you’re nearly grown, and you’ve an excellent head on your shoulders. If it’s something you feel you must do, I won’t try to stop you.”

Minerva’s let out a breath. “Thanks, Da. That means a lot to me. Gran? Will you be angry if I join up?”

“Angry? Heavens, no, dear. Worried _. . ._ nay, terrified, but never angry. You have your reasons for wanting to do this, and I know they’re good ones because you’re a good girl, and a smart one. If it comes to pass, I’ll support you.”

“Thank you.”

“But if you go and get yourself killed, then I _will_ be angry.”

Minerva let out a relieved laugh. “I’ll do my best to avoid it.”

Thorfinn tried not to let his worries consume him. This was all theoretical at the moment. Who knew what would happen over the next year? The war could end, the Ministry might change its mind about letting witches into the Auror corps, Minerva could change her mind _. . ._ Although, he thought ruefully, this last was unlikely. Minerva didn’t make important decisions without a great deal of deliberation, but once she’d decided something, she pursued it with single-minded focus.

“What does Professor Dumbledore say about it?” he asked.

As her mentor, Dumbledore would no doubt try to steer her away from the idea if he thought she wasn’t suited for it.

“I _. . . um_ _. . ._ I haven’t spoken with him about it yet,” Minerva said. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

“But you did talk to Professor Merrythought,” Thorfinn said.

“Yes. I wanted to see if she thought it was even possible.”

“I see,” said Thorfinn. Although he wasn’t sure he did. The way she talked about him, Minerva clearly thought the moon and the stars revolved around Albus Dumbledore, and he was her mentor, so it surprised Thorfinn that she hadn’t sounded him out on a subject as important as this.

Morna asked, “What was the other thing you wanted to discuss? I imagine you hit us with this first to make whatever’s coming next seem like Puffskein’s play.”

_Damn._

Thorfinn had forgotten Minerva had said she’d _two_ things to tell them about.

“It’s not Puffskein’s play, exactly, but I think it’ll be less shocking than the Aurors,” Minerva said, “and it’s somewhat related.”

She hesitated, looking from her grandmother to her father.

“Well? We’re waiting,” Morna said.

“I’d like to try to become an Animagus,” Minerva said.

Morna looked over at Thorfinn, who kept his face neutral.

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Morna said. “The way you were hemming and hawing, I thought you were going to say you wanted to start breeding Hungarian Horntails in the wine cellar.”

“No, but it will require special lessons,” Minerva said. “It could be expensive.”

“That’s not a problem,” Thorfinn said. “Why were you nervous about asking us?”

“Well _. . ._ Professor Dumbledore says most people don’t start the training until they’re fully qualified mages. Usually when their magic is completely developed, he says.”

“But you want to do it now?” Thorfinn asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“It could be helpful with the war. There are only a few Animagi in Britain. And Professor Dumbledore thinks I could be ready to start trying soon. My magic is very mature for my age, he says. He has a friend who teaches people to become Animagi, Professor Falco, and Dumbledore said he’d write to him to see if he’d give me lessons. But he said I had to get your permission before he’d ask him.” She frowned. “Even though I _am_ of age.”

“And quite right,” Morna said.

“So, may I try?” Minerva asked.

“I’d like to know a little more about it,” Thorfinn said. “It’s very difficult, as I understand it.”

“Yes. That’s why there are so few Animagi. Professor Dumbledore also says there’s a theory that you have to have a gene for it. Like _. . ._ like rolling your tongue. Some people have the gene, and some don’t.”

“And how do you know if you have it?”

“You don’t. Not until you try.”

“Isn’t that a lot of work for something you may not even be able to do?”

Minerva shrugged. “I suppose. But it would still be worth trying, don’t you think?”

“Possibly. I’m assuming there are risks?”

Minerva picked at a non-existent bit of lint on her skirt.

“Out with it, lass,” Thorfinn said. “What don’t you want to tell me about this grand plan of yours?”

“Well, some people have changed and, well _. . ._ not been able to change back on their own.”

“They stayed animals?” Mora asked, appalled.

“Yes.” Minerva added quickly, “But that wouldn’t happen to me, because I’d be doing it under supervision until I was really good at changing back.”

“And what else?” Thorfinn asked.

Minerva swallowed. “An incomplete transformation can cause damage to the organs. If they don’t change properly, for example. If it happens inside, you might not know it until you get sick. But usually they can fix it.”

“Usually?”

“Sometimes, if it’s something like the heart, you can just _. . ._ get really sick or die before they can heal you.”

“And how do you prevent these things from happening?”

“I don’t know yet, but that’s all part of the training, Professor Dumbledore says. The master works closely with the student to make sure they know what to do and what not to do.”

Thorfinn considered. This clearly wasn’t something to take lightly. Then again, Minerva wasn’t the sort to take anything lightly. Unlike the Auror business, she’d clearly consulted Dumbledore about this, which made sense, given it was really a Transfiguration matter. Thorfinn wondered if Dumbledore had put it in her head or if Minerva had come to it on her own. Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t encourage her to pursue something that was likely to harm her. Which was, Thorfinn realised, probably why she hadn’t discussed Auror training with him. He made a mental note to talk to Dumbledore himself about Minerva’s plans.

She was looking at him, eyes wide with hope.

He said, “If I were to give my permission—I said, _if_ , Minerva.”

She grinned.

“If I were to give it, I would want to talk with this Professor _. . ._ what was his name? Falco? Before you begin.”

“Of course, Da.”

“When were you thinking of starting this training?”

“During the next term, if Professor Falco will take me.”

“With all your studies, and your other activities, don’t you think you’d be taking on too much?” he asked

“No. And if it’s too much, I can drop some of the extra things.”

Thorfinn raised an eyebrow. “Quidditch?”

Minerva’s face fell a few inches. “Maybe. If I have to. But I’d give up chess and duelling club first.”

“I would think duelling club would be more important if you want to be an Auror,” Morna said.

“I can keep my skills up without the club.”

“It sounds as if you won’t have much time for fun,” Morna said.

“Studying new things _is_ fun,” Minerva said. “Mostly.”

“It is, no doubt. But what about friends? A social life?” said Thorfinn.

Minerva shrugged. “I have friends. I’m not that interested in a so-called social life.”

“No Hogsmeade dates, even?” Morna said with a smile.

“No,” Minerva said firmly.

“What about that young man you met up with over the Christmas holidays? The one who owled you every day.”

“Isaac?”

“Yes. You won’t even have time for him?”

“No.”

“Surely there are other nice boys you might want to walk out with some weekend?”

Morna was clearly enjoying goading Minerva a little. Thorfinn wished she wouldn’t tease. Minerva didn’t seem to care much about her lack of a “so-called social life”, but it bothered Thorfinn. He didn’t want his daughter to end up lonely. Although, he couldn’t say he was too disappointed that she wasn’t mad for the boys. She was a bonny lass, so he’d been afraid they’d be swarming about, but so far, he hadn’t had to chase any away. Not that Minerva couldn’t do that herself, of course, if the need arose. As poor Isaac and his owls seemed to attest.

“Gran,” said an exasperated Minerva, “I’ve told you, there aren’t any boys at Hogwarts that interest me.”

“That’s a shame. A bit of harmless canoodling might be good for you.”

“Gran!” cried Minerva. A scandalised Minerva was always an amusing sight, Thorfinn thought, hiding a smile.

“None of your outrage, please, my girl,” Morna said, “I’m just saying that it’s natural and normal for a girl your age to think about romance, at least a little. I worry that if you spend too much time with your books, you’ll miss out on some of the fun of being young.”

“Well, there’s a war on,” Minerva said, as if that explained everything.

“Even more reason,” said Morna, nodding as if confirming it.

“The boys at Hogwarts are just too boring to bother with.”

Thorfinn snorted a laugh, and the two women looked over at him.

He held up his hands in resignation. “I’m sorry, Morna, but Minerva’s right. Seventeen-year-old boys are boring. They only have one thing on their minds.”

Minerva’s brows rose in shock.

“What I mean to say,” said a flustered Thorfinn, “is that most teenaged boys can’t talk about anything but Quidditch.”

“And girls,” said Morna. “Unless a lot has changed since I was in school.”

“Yes, well _. . ._ that too,” said Thorfinn. “Minerva is too smart for them. She’ll have lots of time to meet boys after she leaves school.”

“There will be plenty in the Auror training programme, I should think,” Morna said, smirking.

Minerva gave her grandmother the sternest in her wide repertoire of stern looks.

“I am _done_ with this particular conversation,” she said. “Da, will you write to Professor Dumbledore to give your permission for him to contact Professor Falco?”

“Yes. Provided he answers my questions.”

“I’m sure he will.” Minerva gathered up the two books she’d taken from the library shelf. “I think I’ll head up now and do some reading.”

She kissed her father and grandmother.

“That girl is going to drive herself into the ground,” Morna said after the door had closed behind her granddaughter.

“She enjoys hard work.”

“She’ll end up alone if she isn’t careful,” Morna said, giving voice to his own worries.

He said, “I think she’s waiting to find someone who can get his mind around her.”

“She might have a long wait, then.”

“She might.”

Thorfinn didn’t know if that made him sad or relieved.

_~ FIN~_

**Author's Note:**

> ### Copyright
> 
> This work of fiction is based on characters and settings created by J. K. Rowling. All recognisable characters, settings, and plot elements are copyright © J. K. Rowling.
> 
> The author believes this work falls within the scope of the Fair Use Doctrine as a _transformative work._ For more information, see the Organization for Transformative Works.
> 
> All original characters, settings, and plot elements are copyright © Squibstress.
> 
> This work of fiction is available for use under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license.
> 
> ### More in the Epithalamium Series
> 
> For anyone who is interested, there are links and information on the backstory for characters and events in the "Epithalamium universe" on my website (http://squibstress.wordpress.com).
> 
> If you'd like to know more about Minerva and Albus's adventures, you might enjoy the following stories, set in the same universe. 
> 
> **Bonnie Wee Thing** | Epithalamium #0.5 ~ A short story that takes place on the day of Minerva McGonagall's birth.
> 
> **One to Keep an Eye On** | Epithalamium #0.72 ~ Young Minerva has her first Transfiguration class. It does not go as Albus expects.
> 
> **Epithalamium** | Epithalamium #1 ~ An epic romance novel that follows Minerva McGonagall from her seventh year at Hogwarts through her first year of teaching.
> 
> **1945** | Epithalamium #1.5 ~ An excerpt from _Epithalamium_. Albus Dumbledor travels to Germany to confront Gellert Grindelwald.
> 
> **Till A' the Seas Gang Dry** | Epithalamium #2 _~_ In this follow-up to _Epithalamium,_ Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore venture into the Muggle world to enjoy a winter interlude in Italy.
> 
> **Come Autumn, Sae Pensive** | Epithalamium #3 ~ A novel following Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore through an unexpected pregnancy and its aftermath.
> 
> **Winterreise** | Epithalamium #3.5 ~ A short story about tension between Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.
> 
> **Familiar Rituals** | Epithalamium #3.6 ~ A short story about some end-of-term rituals and how Minerva McGonagall became Head of Gryffindor House.
> 
> **Mammals of the Order Chiroptera** | Epithalmium #3.7 ~ A short story in which Severus Snape observes members of the Order of the Phoenix at closer range than he would perhaps like.
> 
> **Ca' the Yowes** | Epithalamium #3.8 ~ A fluffy short story featuring Minerva McGonagall just after the Stunner attack in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
> 
> **Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart** | Epithalamium #4 ~ A novella about the lengths Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape must go to in the prosecution of the war after Dumbledore's death.


End file.
